Michael Jackson

Michael Jackson, by Michelle Rivera
I have always loved Michael Jackson. His music meant the world to me.
As a battered wife living overseas, I was miserable, and it was Michael Jackson’s music that helped me survive that awful time. I danced wildly and with abandon to his music every day resulting in a weight loss of 80 pounds. I used to think, “I wonder if that little black kid from Gary Indiana knows that there is a terribly unhappy military housewife living far from home and family who is depending on him to get her through yet another day.” If we had had the internet back in the late seventies, I would have found a way to send him a message to let him know. It’s ironic how he always said that his fans helped him get through the difficult times in his life. When news of his death reached me, I was heartbroken. I was hoping that he would schedule a concert tour here in the states when he returned from his Euro tour. But that hope was dashed and now he is gone forever.
When I tried to explain my adoration of Michael Jackson to my kids and grandkids, they looked at me like I was crazy. They never knew the adorable little Michael of The Jackson Five, they didn’t grow up with his amazing roster of hit after hit after hit. They never danced to Thriller or Billie Jean and they never heard the heartbreaking song he sang to a rat named Ben. I recently listened to a live version of Ben, Michael singing his heart out to a live audience and recorded on a “hits” album. The song is so beautiful and he sings it with such veracity that it brings tears to my eyes. Their frame of reference of Michael Jackson was the “Wacko Jacko” we saw in the papers. They only knew him as a possible pedophile, and they thought I had lost my mind grieving for such a nut case.
But I didn’t care, I still loved him and missed him and I devoured every piece of literature I could get my hands on about Michael. I watched his funeral and cried the entire time. I felt like I lost a beloved family member because indeed, he was about my age and we had grown up together. Him in infamy, me quietly loving his every note.